The Days Between the Dash
Her obituary stopped me dead in my tracks. I didn’t know her at all. I didn’t even go searching for it. In fact, I don’t even get the paper. I just happened to be carefully wrapping my belongings in some borrowed old newspaper for my upcoming move. Thousands of tiny black words leaving their sooty grime on my hands. Words blurring together indistinguishably from the rest of the printed page. But these words made me freeze. Her name in bold black type caught my eye. Maybe because it was the same as mine: Joyce . I stared, blinking at it for a few seconds before scanning the words below her name, desperately darting from line to line, intent on learning what this woman was like. Who was she? Was she loved? What did she spend her life doing? What would they say about her? Did she make an impact while she was here? Or did she barely leave an imprint on this soil? My eyes locked onto the paper for any sign that this woman had done someth...